Letters to a Lost Soul
by Fallenangel26
Summary: Here are a collection of letters from Faye to Spike, after ep. 26. A more gritty look at Faye's feelings, as I felt that they were not really delved into enough in the series.
1. Gravity

A/N: Well, here's a little ficlet that's been bouncing around in my head for several months. Yes, it's depressing. Yes, it's kinda weird. But hey! That's me. 

Anyways, this is loosely influenced by the book 'Griffen and Sabine' (and also the sequel, 'Sabine's notebook'). It takes place some time after the series ends, and is from Faye's point of view. After you finish reading, PLEASE REVIEW!!!! Even if you didn't like it, tell me what I can do better. 

Thanks so much for reading!

Until next we meet,

Fallenangel(26)

DISCLAIMER: Roses are red, Violets are blue. Me no own, So you no sue!

The CB characters belong to Bandai, and the song 'Gravity' from 'Wolf's Rain' belongs to Maaya Sakamoto, Yoko Kanno, and the people that made that anime

~Been a long road to follow,  
Been there and gone tomorrow,  
Without saying goodbye to yesterday.  
Are the memories I hold still valid?  
Or has the tears deluded them?~

Dear Spike,

Well, here I am. You wanted me to come, and I did. As I sit here, leaning against you to write this, I am enveloped in the smell of you, and all the memories it brings back. Back when I first met you, you smelled like most bounty hunters; Cigarettes, metal, and cheap whiskey. But you also had another smell lingering there among the others. Blood. It was faint, almost like a shirt that hasn't been worn for many years, but it was still there. I guess that's not much basis for judging a guy, I mean can you see me sitting in a café talking to some girlfriends, "I like guys who smell like blood,"? Yeah, that's me. 

But you just had this (I'm going to sound like an idiot here,) essence. I felt like I had to know why that blood was there. That's why I was so pesky, those first few weeks. 

But the more I got to know you, the more I realized that I didn't want to know the story behind the bloody smell. Especially when Vicious had me in that church. That has been one of the most profoundly shocking experiences of my life.

When I called you and Jet, I was a little worried of course. I knew I'd been, well, kinda bitchy to you guys, and now you were the only people that could come get me. But who else was I going to call? Doctor Bachus and Nurse Manley? Whitney? The ISSP? Nope. All I had was you guys. And when Jet told me I was on my own, I swear, I thought I was dead. I mean, my life didn't exactly flash before my eyes, (because of course, I couldn't remember it) but I just got this feeling. I kept thinking that I didn't want to die yet! 

But then you put you hand out and asked where I was. God. I think that right there, my view of you started to change. Even though you said you weren't coming for me, I knew that I was going to be okay. 

But when you strode into that church, there was something about you that made my blood run cold. Something in the way you walked. Something in the way your trench coat flared out behind you. Something in the way your eyes were. Something in the way the temperature of the already freezing church dropped a few degrees.

After you got me loose, all I could think about was getting out of there. You looked so scary, so different from the careless cowboy I knew. You didn't look like you'd get in a fight with me over who used the last of the hot water, or yell because I stole your cigarettes (Sorry! Force of habit…). I couldn't see the Spike Spiegel that I had come to know.

I saw a different side of you. A ruthless killer and trained assassin, all traces of relative good humor gone. That's when I realized that there was a whole other part of you that I had never seen. A part that reaches into the back of the closet to pull out that bloodstained shirt. That part attracted me just as much as the careless cowboy did.

~Maybe there's time tomorrow.  
The rain will cease to follow,  
And the mist will fade into one more today.  
Something somewhere out there keeps calling.~  
  


When I saw you go flying out of that huge stained glass window, my heart stopped. Here I was, hands tied behind my back, wearing a spaghetti strap dress and stilettos, watching you fall, presumably to your death. I could barely move. When you hit the pavement, I swear my heart stopped. I kept thinking, _Don't let him be dead! _Over and over again. It must have worked, because there was glass and chunks of stone falling all around, yet none of them seemed to hit you. 

I remember almost being afraid to touch you, after everything quieted down. But I had to. That grenade you threw really shook things up. Literally. 

In the end, I managed to drag you over to shelter under some trees across the street (which is why you had all those scratches across you back). Geez you were heavy! (Do me a favor, and ease up on the doughnuts!) Then Jet came and picked us up, just like I knew he would, even though he kept insisting it was only because you still owed him repair money.

After I fixed you up, I sat and watched you sleeping, there on that godforsaken yellow couch. I didn't tell you, but I stayed by your side, the entire time you were unconscious. I don't know what I expected when you woke up, but I didn't want to miss it.

I guess I thought that the new (or old I guess), Spike Spiegel was turning over a new leaf in our relationship. I must have been hoping for a decent conversation that didn't involve screaming, sharp things, and random flying objects. Maybe I thought a 'thank you', or maybe a comfortable silence to allow me to thank you for saving me.

But _noooo_. The Abominable Lunkhead was back in action (Sort of). And so, The Untouchable Shrew Woman donned her tights and cape, returning to her never-ending crusade, to vanquish all dumbasses, starting with a certain green haired cowboy. You just _had_ to comment on my singing. If there's one thing I hate, it's people who insult my singing. I may not be an opera star, but I'd like to see you do any better. (On second thought, don't. I keep forgetting that I've heard you sing before… Not a pretty sight.) 

Don't worry, I'm just playing with you. But on a slightly more serious note, let's get back to the main point of this letter. 

~Am I going home?  
Will I hear someone singing solace to the silent moon?  
Zero gravity what's it like?  
Am I alone?

 Is somebody there beyond these heavy aching feet?~

I'm writing an apology to you, for taking so long to understand. Maybe if I could have figured you out earlier, I could have done something. I'm not saying that all this was my fault, because I had absolutely nothing to do with it. But I think that might be what's bothering me. I didn't try to help. I know you would have bitched at me and thrown a fit if I'd even suggested it, but I could have snuck around behind your back or something. I know that you know how hard Jet and I tried to respect the fact that you wanted this to be yours alone, but I still can't help wondering if things could have turned out differently if I had done something. Maybe given you something to come back to. After all, a place to belong is the most wonderful thing in the world.

But you have to understand, I had to figure out myself, before I could help you. And it just took me too long. Or maybe, you moved too quickly. Anyhow, I guess you could say our internal watches just weren't synchronized. Somehow, we just missed each other in the enveloping mist of our separate lives. I didn't realize that I needed you until you were walking away from me to go blow the Red Dragon headquarters to Kingdom Come.

It wasn't too late then. I could have stopped you from leaving. But there was something holding me back. I couldn't say what it was then, and I still can't now. Maybe it was the last few shreds of The Untouchable Shrew Woman. Maybe it was that my tongue was stuck in my mouth, unable to wrap around the words that needed to be said. Maybe the barrier between us was too high. Maybe it was a little of all of these things. Maybe it was something entirely different. I have no idea.

But whatever it was, it kept me prisoner for just a little too long. I didn't know I needed you until it was too late. Maybe you never knew at all.

I know there probably wasn't anything I could have done, but this niggling feeling just keeps haunting me. I have this _need_ to explain all this to you. I don't know why. Maybe I'm hoping you read this, even though I know you won't. Maybe I'm just desperate to find an excuse for the way things turned out. Maybe I'm just losing it. (No, don't let one of your horrible 'I told you so' smirks creep onto your face.)

Even though I'm writing this to you as if you'll actually read this, I know that as soon as I finish writing, I'll just pull out your old lighter (yes, it was me who stole it…) and watch these pages burn.

Your gravestone's gone cold now, and it's late.

Until next we meet,

Faye

~Still the road keeps on telling me, to go on.  
Something is pulling me.  
I feel the gravity, of it all.~

A/N: Well? Like it? Hate it? TELL ME!!! And no, this is NOT the end. There will be two or so more chapters…


	2. No Angel

A/N: YO!! I'm back! Sorry my update took so long, but I've been banned from the computer, so I've had to sneak brief writing spurts late at night. And school starts on Wednesday, so I'm a little stressed. It'll be my first year at the high school (I'm a sophomore), and I'm super nervous. But enough about me, let's talk about you! Here's my reviewer thank yous…

**Call me Rin:** Eh. I dunno. I usually like happy ending stories, but I'm slightly depressed right now, so we'll just have to see how it turns out. See, my stories write themselves. I just type them! But I promise I'll put some serious thought into it. If you love happy endings, check out Widow's Waltz (maybe you already have) as that story is guaranteed to have a happy ending! Thanks for the review!

**Animefreak44:** Arigato mas! ^.^

**Arbitrary:** I love those books to! Did you read the sequal (Sabine's notebook)? From the replying to herself and going crazy, I'm guessing you have… No, Faye's not going to go crazy (or at least not crazier) thanks for the review!

**Sorrow:** Thank you very much! I tried to give it a little more darkness than my other fluffy fics…

**Cowgirl13:** Arigato mas! You're my first reviewer again! (sniff) makes my heart go squish! ^.^

Well, here's chappy 2. The song is 'No Angel' by Dido. Hope you enjoy!

_If you gave me just a coin for every time we say goodbye_

_Well I'd be rich beyond my dreams, I'm sorry for my weary life_

_I know I'm not perfect_

_But I can smile_

_And I hope that you see this heart behind my tired eyes_

Dear Spike,

Well, here I go again. Writing more letters to fucked up dead guys. I really do need a shrink. Probably more than one… 

You know, there's this one old movie called 'It's a Wonderful Life' that I used to love when I was little. It was about this guy who started having a real tough time, and wished he had never been born. So then his guardian angel comes down and 'poof' the guy was never born. Then he goes around and sees how horrible everything would be if he weren't born. See he unknowingly influenced all these people's lives, and without him the world would be this really bad place. So he realizes that he really was worth something and wishes himself back to being born again, and everything's hunky dory.

I hate that movie.

Real life isn't anything like the movies. If I had never been born, everything would be exactly the same as it is now. You'd still be dead, the gate would still have blown up, life would still keep going – like that stupid energizer bunny… I forgot. You were never subjected to that annoying thing. 

Some people have all the luck.

You know Spike, if you had never been born, it would be kinda like the opposite of that movie. Julia and Vicious wouldn't be dead and would probably be married now.  All those buildings you blew up would still be standing. And I wouldn't be messed up like this. Well, not _this_ messed up.

But if you hadn't been born, Julia would still be with that creep, and he'd still be alive. All those bounties you caught would still be free. None of our Bebop crew would ever have met each other. Jet would still be working for the ISSP, that Hakim guy would have stolen Ein, Ed would still be… Well, no one really knows what Ed would have been doing… And me… I'd still be a nobody, running from my debt, never really amounting to much. But I guess that never really changed. Maybe I'd have found some guy and married him. Maybe I'd have children. Or maybe not. 

But if you had never been born, life would have been as boring as hell.

Guess what? I got a cat. Don't you smirk at me, Spike. I don't want to hear about me turning into an old spinster with a house full of cats. No, I'm an old spinster who _looks_ like a 24-year-old woman, with a tiny apartment on Mars and _one_ cat. His name is Gaujo, matter of fact. He was as alley cat before I adopted him, so he's kind of beat up looking. He's tiger-striped, and one side of his face is all scarred from a fight with another cat. He's blind in one eye from that, so for the first week or so after I took him in, he was running into walls and stuff. It was kind of sad and funny at the same time. 

But anyways, I first found him a little bit after that big fight, corned by a pack of rats in the alley next to my apartment. Well, I blasted the heck out of the rats (yes, I still have my Glock), but poor Gaujo thought I was after him. He was spitting and hissing and clawing, and putting up a good fight. So I told him, 'hey, if you don't want my help, fine. Die alone then. I hope you get eaten by a dog!'. 

Shut up, Spike. I know you're laughing.

If you tell that I can't, I will, I will, I'll try all night 

_And if I say I'm coming home, I'll probably be out all night_

_I know I can be afraid_

_But I'm alive_

_And I hope that you can trust this heart behind my tired eyes_

Anyways, I just marched right into my apartment and slammed the door. Next day, Gaujo was still in that alley, and this time, it was actually a dog that cornered him. Well, after Ein, I'm developing sort of a soft spot in my heart for canines, so I didn't shoot the mutt. I just threw a few cans, cursed a bit, and gave it a well-aimed kick in the ribs. And again, Gaujo put up a good fight, so I left him. Next day, same thing except the rats were back. Day after that, it was two other cats. I'm telling you Spike, Gaujo sure knows how to get in trouble! Finally, he seemed to realize that I was _helping_ him, not hurting him, and actually let me pet him. But every time I tried to take him back to my apartment, he'd start having a hissy fit (quite literally. I see now where that term came from) so I just left him to his own devices. 

Finally, after a few weeks of cajoling and cat food cans on my doorstep, I got him inside. The poor thing didn't know whether to hiss or purr! I made him go to the groomers and the vet, because I won't put up with fleas and I won't have him spraying everything. 

After the first month of bumping into chairs, shredding everything, and pacing non-stop, Gaujo adjusted and is doing remarkably well. Every night, when I come home from work, he purrs a welcome, I give him a quick pet and take a shower, then we both have dinner, and cuddle on the couch while watching late night TV until bedtime. 

I'm working as a waitress now, at diner on Mars. The pay is not spectacular, but it's enough to get by. At least I'm not living off the odd cup of soup, dog food, and vegetarian beef and bell peppers (as Jet liked to call it). And it turns out, I'm actually a decent cook! Living alone brings out the oddest things in people, eh? 

I've developed this new persona that I use at work. I just act all perky and nice, and everyone thinks I'm a country girl, just moved here from Venus. The uniforms are just like the ones in old-fashioned diners (yes that is old-fashioned, even for me), and they even have the tacky looking hat thingy. Problem is, my manager is an old lech, and my uniform is just as short as my favorite old yellow vinyl two-piece suit. You'd never recognize me if you saw me now, running around in a skimpy little uniform at work, jeans and a bomber jacket on the street, and sweats and an undershirt at home. 

Days are long, nights are longer, and time drags on infinitely. Nothing interesting really happens in my life, as nothing really happened in it before. I think my time on the Bebop was my one chance, my one window of opportunity to make something happen. And I blew it, Spike. I stubbornly shackled myself to my pride and watched the door slam in my face. And look at me now. I'm working as an underpaid waitress at a little po-dink diner with a gross perv for a boss. I live alone in a grungy apartment in the worst part of town, with my cat – who is named after you. I don't go out, I don't make friends – I just sit around and mope. I don't even gamble anymore. How sad is that?! I worked as a dealer at the 'Lucky Stars Casino' on Ganymede for a while, but I just couldn't do it. Day after day, watching people lose, win, and cheat, I began to feel more and more out of place. I quit a week later, and moved to Mars. I sold the Redtail, and used the money to get my apartment, a car, and deposited the rest. In the _bank_ that is, not in the casino. Oh, and I also went halvsies with Jet, to get you a special plot and a nice funeral. 

I guess I should tell you about your grave and funeral, since you probably can't see it from wherever you are. The plot Jet and I got you is in the Titan War Memorial Park, which – even though you didn't fight there – I thought quite fitting. Vicious is there too, I suppose. I didn't really pay attention to where he was buried, though I suppose you probably want to know. I'll look next time I visit. Anyways, your grave is near the edge of the graveyard, off the path a little ways. It's under this really big Weeping Willow, which shines silver when the moonlight hits it (in case you were wondering). Your gravestone is dark gray – not fancy, but beautiful just the same. The inscription reads, 'Spike Speigel 2043-2071. "The music box is broken, or is it? It starts to play and a haunting tune fills the air. I awake suddenly from my dream, there is no music box, and yet, there it is – a tiny one, nestled in the palm of my hand, and I awake from my dream again as if I was peeling an onion… It's a dream no matter how far I go. I can never reach reality, trapped in an endless nightmare." –A Cowboy' I found that when I was in your room once (probably looking for cigs or your lighter), and I opened a drawer and it was full of pictures, endless pages of writing, and a few dusty rose petals. I confess, I was so entranced by your writing, that I lifted a couple of the pages. One of them had that poem scrawled on it, and it seemed so perfect – almost as if you had purposely written that for your epitaph. 

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try 

_I'm no angel, but dos that mean that I can't live my life_

_I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry_

_I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly_

You did, didn't you? You knew you were going to die, so you wrote that. God, Spike… When I watched you vanish that night, somewhere, somehow, I knew you weren't coming back. I could have stopped you, I know. I could have shot out your legs, could have gone with you, could have made you promise to come back. I know it was selfish, but I didn't want you to leave me. Maybe if I had been selfish, you'd still be alive. But there's no use thinking about that now.

Let's talk about another thing I don't think you saw. After you left, Jet and I saw the mess you left behind on TV. I mean, how could we not? It was on every channel. When I saw you mouth the word 'Bang', I knew it was over, and I smiled. I knew you had found paradise, a place where there are no guns, no sorrow, no bounties, and no past. I hoped you would be happy there, to live (well, not exactly) with your blonde angel in perpetual bliss. 

Jet and I went to the city morgue later, to identify your body. We talked it over, and decided on the plot and gravestone. Jet threw a fit when I told him that I wanted to sell the Redtail, but you know he can never say no to me (especially when I play the 'poor girl who just got here memory back' card). I don't know why, I just felt that I needed to have a part in your final resting place.

Your funeral was small, as can be expected. All your friends are dead now, and who else were we going to invite? The ISSP? Punch and Judy? But I did manage to track down Ein, Ed, her father and McWhathisface, VT and Zeros, Rocco's sister (I thought you'd like to know, she made a full recovery from the surgery, and her vision has returned), Doohan and Miles, these three random old guys, even Andy (who is now a Sherlock Holmes-esque detective, going by the name of 'Basil'). They all came to pay their respects to you, Spike. It was kind of awe-inspiring to see all these people who you affected. And think of all the people who would have come if they hadn't died. Julia (of course), Shin, Lin, Annie, Mao, Rocco, Maria, Gren, maybe even Vicious. But as to that, we'll never know.

Anyways, at your funeral, we all listened to some preacher give the traditional 'Dearly Beloved…' speech. Jet gave the epitaph, but I wasn't really listening, I confess. I couldn't stop staring at that wooden box that you were going to be buried in. Locked away in a box in the cold, hard, unforgiving ground. By the time I snapped out of it, the pallbearers were beginning to toss dirt on top of your coffin.

And suddenly, I knew it was wrong. "Stop!" I yelled. If I had just announced that I was going to live in a convent, everyone couldn't have been more shocked. "Stop!" I said again, softer. "Spike Speigel was a cowboy, a free ranging wanderer. Would he really want to have is body rot away, six feet under? Would he really want to be tied to this one spot? Imprisoned underground? I don't think so." Everyone muttered a bit, then fell silent as Ed stepped forward flanked by Ein. She looked up at me, and I was shocked to actually see tears in her eyes. Ed? Crying? She slowly walked over to me and took my hand. "Ed doesn't think so either." Ein licked my other hand, and sat at my feet.

_I know I'm not around each night_

_And I know I always think I'm right_

_I can believe that you might look around_

Then Doohan stepped forward. "Me neither." He was followed by 'Basil', then Rocco's sister and VT, then everyone else, until only Jet was left standing there. A smile slowly crept to his face and he actually had to wipe his eyes. For the first time since your death, he was getting teary-eyed. He walked over to me and enveloped me in a bear hug. I cried then too, into Jet's black suit. I felt Ed's arms go around my waist, and Ein sat on my feet. And we stood there, as it began to rain, in the Titan War Memorial Park, our Bebop family, holding on to each other

Yeah, it's sappy, yeah it's mushy, deal with it. I think my relationship with Jet, Ed, and Ein has matured a little since your death. We're no longer family by default, sticking together only because there's no one else. Maybe if you hadn't died, we would have come to this maturity anyways. Maybe we could have been a family. We each needed a place to belong, somewhere to come home to. And that was the Bebop. Or didn't you notice it? Though we all had our issues, and from time to time, someone might disappear for a while, we always came back. Even if we didn't mean to. Family is like that.

Anyways, back to your funeral. After deciding that your body should not be imprisoned six feet under, we had you cremated, and then Jet, Ed, Ein, and myself each took a handful of ash, and scattered it (you?) into the vast range of the Cosmos. 

There's still a plot and gravestone for you in the Titan War Memorial Park, a place for people to come and grieve. I thought it a fitting tribute to our Lone Ranger.

There's a picture of you pinned to the fridge in my apartment. I can see it from where I'm sprawled across the couch to write this letter. I don't know when it was taken, I just happened to find it when I was looking for a record of an old bounty I caught in the back storeroom. You're sprawled across the couch (gee, what's new?) and had apparently been reading 'Bruce Lee's theory on Life, Liberty, and Punching the Hell out of Bad Guys' before the picture was taken. It was slightly candid, as your book was still up, but you're face is turned towards the camera and you look slightly confused. I bet that look was followed by your eyebrow twitching look and then a shout of "FAYE!" or "JET!" or "ED!" – well, no probably not Ed, as the picture was relatively well taken, and you happen to be centered and right side up. You look all innocent and cute, which for you, is reason enough to keep the picture. 

There are also a few more snapshots up there, but they're of the entire crew. I've got the group mugshot when we accidentally grabbed that undercover ISSP officer, a picture from the one Halloween that we all dressed up for, and another random one of us all sitting out on the nose of the Bebop, on Ganymede, I'm assuming. There's also a small clipping about the Gate accident that I dredged out of the Central Mars Library, a crayoned letter from Ed, Jet's comm. Number, and a shopping list. The entirety of my life is summed up in a few snapshots, an old newspaper article, and a shopping list. 

How fitting.

Well, this was a nice long letter. It'll probably take a while to burn, so I'd best be getting started.

Happy trails,

Faye

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try and try 

_I'm no angel, but does that mean that I can't live my life_

_I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry_

_I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly…_

A/N: Well? Like it? Hate it? TELL ME! Savvy? ^.^


End file.
